


third time’s the charm

by transperalta



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Holt and Kevin are Jake’s Dads, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Parental Kevin Cozner, Parental Ray Holt, Ray Holt Acting as Jake Peralta's Parental Figure, Roger Peralta Bashing, Shooting, damn it’s quite sad, i swear there’s a happy ending, please read it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transperalta/pseuds/transperalta
Summary: 'sure, he'd been shot before. multiple times, actually.'but maybe this time was different.maybe third time's the charm.a b99 hurt-comfort fic. cross-published with wattpad.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Kevin Cozner & Jake Peralta, Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt, Ray Holt & Jake Peralta
Comments: 23
Kudos: 206





	1. ch. 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first b99 fic and so i’m well aware that it’s probably very ooc, not to mention just very bad altogether. i hope you enjoy it though! <3

sure, he'd been shot before. multiple times, actually.

the first he didn't like to talk about. sure, it hurt physically, but it hurt a hell of a lot more inside. no one knew about it, and he didn't plan on that ever changing. no one needed to know.

~~~~~~~~~~

"jake. what did i tell you last time this happened?"

"that i need to get my grades up..."

"and?"

"and if not, there'll be a punishment"

"right. so tell me why i've seen no fucking improvement?"

he practically spat those last words. jake could feel his father's breath on his cheek as he approached, pinning him against the brick wall with his forearm. he reeked of alcohol and smoke. he had promised to quit when he'd talked with jake's mom, but clearly that was just for brownie points. jake considered pointing this fact out, but decided against it. wisely, because roger was already pissed as is, and standing up to him would only worsen the situation. 

"i'm sorry dad. i'll do better, i promise."

jake stuttered and stumbled on his words. 

"yeah? cause you promised last time, didn't you. and how did that go? huh?"

jake tried to reply, he did. but his father pressed harder on his chest, and breathing just didn't feel possible anymore, and his mouth got dry worryingly quickly, and-

"not even going to respond. typical."

"you're fucking useless."

"it's a miracle you haven't killed yourself yet, pussy."

jake agreed with that last one. it was a miracle. he should have done it by now. 

but he couldn't leave his mom with this piece of shit. 

something in him switched, and suddenly he didn't care about the consequences. because maybe if his father killed him, it wouldn't be his fault. his father would be behind bars, his mom would be safe, and jake would be gone. wins all around.

"you know, i can smell the smoke."

okay, yeah. he instantly regret saying it. probably one of his worst ideas yet. 

"you piece of shit! you're a fucking mistake. no goddamn respect for anyone!"

he heard the gunshot before he felt it. in fact, the only thing he felt was his body hitting the floor as his father took his arm away from jake's chest and instead grabbed a pistol, leaving his son's body to fall gracelessly onto the concrete of the alleyway. 

it took all the strength in jake's body to look up at his father's face, betrayal painted in his eyes. he almost expected roger to hold out his hand, to help him up. as if he didn't just pull the trigger on his own son.

no, instead he just snarled and spat down onto jake before walking out of his life. 

it started to rain. 

that was a weird comfort for the young boy. yes, he was bleeding out in the middle of a city that didn't give a shit about him, but at least it looked cool. like he was the star of one of his favourite action movies, suffering a tragic death which would be talked about by film fans everywhere for years to come. he tried to imagine it in his head, the way the cameras would pan around from the bustling streets to the strangely peaceful alleyway and his dying body. the dramatic music playing in the background from some obscure nyc buskers performing for a group of tourists, oblivious to the violence that had just occurred around the corner. it was his version of peace. 

it was then that the pain started to kick in. 

it started as a sharp, stabbing sting in his right ankle, but it quickly evolved into a wildfire, setting his whole body ablaze. he was too hot, then too cold, then somehow a mixture of the two. his leg felt worryingly damp, but at this point, it was hard differentiating between the rain and the blood. he didn't have the strength to look down and assess the damage. instead, he simply prayed to pass out and die quickly.

and that he did. 

except, he didn't. he woke up in the hospital, alone, wondering what time it was, and how he got there in the first place. by his side sat an empty chair. no one ever came to occupy it. 

he healed strangely quickly, which was a miracle considering his diet consisted mainly of orange soda and potato chips. he managed to lie to his mom, saying he'd just stayed at a friend's house for a couple days, and his classmates didn't even notice he was gone. teachers hardly missed his presence either, and the missing homework wasn't exactly an irregular occurrence. the only person who brought it up was gina, who he convinced that he'd gone to stay with his grandparents for the weekend.

from then on, it was no longer 'roger'. it was 'captain', or 'sir', and he was to be treated with the utmost respect at all times. that meant no talking back, no joking around, no father-son bonding activities. 

bleeding out in an alleyway was the last time jake had called him dad. 

bleeding out in an alleyway was the last time jake had felt like he had a dad.

~~~~~~~~~~

so that's why he didn't talk about it. sure, some nyc stranger knew that they'd saved him, but they didn't know the full story. jake was alright with that. it was better for everyone if it stayed that way. 

the second time was much more of a story. his own wife shot him in the leg, no big deal. seriously, no big deal! they hardly ever talked about it, and when they did it was just a joke. again, jake was alright with that. he was much more comfortable with jokes anyway. they were in his comfort zone, his home territory. plus, if he ever slipped up and mentioned being shot, he could just play it off and mention the more fun time. ignore the bleeding-out-in-an-alleyway time. because maybe, if he ignored it and pretended it never happened, then it would just disappear. he'd never have to remember that night.

however, right now? 

right now, he was hyper aware of the first time he was shot. because - unlike the second time - this one didn't seem fun. no, this one felt much more bleeding-out-in-an-alleyway and much less fun-anecdote-to-tell-at-parties. in fact, he didn't think he'd live to tell this story. 

maybe he didn't want to.

maybe the third time he got shot would be the last.


	2. ch. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long! i’m not quite used to people actually reading my fics yet aha. i hope this is okay! again, thank you all for supporting this <3

at the risk of sounding like a bad movie cliche, jake found himself replaying the events of the past week in his mind as his blood slowly pooled beneath him, seeping into the carpet. 

~~~~~~~~~~

MONDAY 09:32 in the 99th PRECINCT

"and so, amy santiago, that is why my breakfast burrito would be considered a delicacy in multiple different countries."

"jake, for the last time, you can't just wrap candy into a burrito shape and call it a breakfast burrito. that's not how it works."

"uh, sure it is santiago! anything's a burrito if you try hard enough."

she shook her head at that, but ended up smiling anyway. jake peralta was an idiot. a very cute, lovable idiot. 

"whatever. i'm calling your dentist when i get home."

"good luck! i don't even have a de-"

"peralta, can i see you in my office for a minute please?"

oh. oh noooooo.

this couldn't be good. holt only ever called him into his office when he was in trouble.

"listen, sir, if this is about the hot sauce i put in charles' weird hungarian tea, i can explain. i honestly didn't even know it would explode like that! i mean, what kind of tea explodes?"

"no, peralta, i have a new case for you. please do not elaborate on this strange tea-story of yours."

jake let out an audible sigh. actually, he had quite looked forward to telling the tea story, because now that he'd said it out loud he realised how funny it was. really, you should've seen charles' face! 

"there's a kidnapping case i would like to put you on."

"say no more sir, already interested."

he began to turn around to leave the captain's office.

"actually peralta, it's quite important that i do say more. please sit down."

holt gestured to the seat in front of him, and jake's mind started running a mile a minute. what kind of case could possibly be that difficult? why did holt look like he was actually showing some rare emotion? that was never a good sign. 

"we need you to protect a young girl. her brother has already gone missing, kidnapped by an up-and-coming gang. their parents got tied up into some shady business with them, and presumably are indebted to them in some way."

he agreed. and from then, the rest of the day passed in a haze. 

paperwork was dropped onto his desk, he completed it, and filed it away. and repeat. he tried to just tune out the activities from the rest of the precinct, which to be fair wasn't difficult. since scully's opera incident - in which he literally sang opera songs throughout their entire night shift - he had become a pro at simply ignoring what was going on. 

he looked chipper as he finally left, waving at the uniforms as he walked out into the streets of new york, but that didn't last long. as soon as he got home he kicked off his shoes, not even bothering to strip himself of his dirty clothes as he practically fell into one of his many massage chairs. this was not going to be a fun week.

TUESDAY 10:17 in the SAFEHOUSE

"so, kid, i've got a whole bunch of movies we can watch together, or we can make a sandwich, or we can play wii sports! you wanna play wii sports?"

god, jake hated kids. i mean, not really hated? to be honest, it was more like a fear. kids had no filter. kids were mean. and worst of all, kids were heavily influenced by their parents. and this kid's parents were two drug addicts who got in trouble with a gang, meaning they probably never cared about their kids, meaning the kids would grow up with deep emotional trauma and-

jake was projecting again. dammit, this is why he never wanted kids. what if he screwed them up in the head like his dad did to him? he didn't think he would be able to live with the guilt of messing up a child. it's like what you see on every true crime documentary; the kid had absent parents, the kid developed a horrible mindset, the kid became a serial killer who chopped off people's penises and pickled them in a warehouse. 

okay, that may have just been in jake's dreams, but his point still stands! kids are scary, end of.

"i want my mommy."

no, no no no no no no no. jake was not trained on how to deal with a crying child. this was not in the manual. this was not what he signed up for. 

"uhhhh... wii bowling?"

WEDNESDAY 21:04 in the SAFEHOUSE

"and so the prince defeated the dragon"

wait, a little too violent.

"through the power of love and friendship and all things non-threatening. the end!"

much better. jake couldn't risk reminding the young girl of the 'yup, your parents are most-likely dead and so is your brother, and you might be joining them if i screw this mission up' part of this vacation. nope, it was simply a fun little getaway while her family wait to meet up with her. definitely. 

just as he was getting too immersed in his imagination, he heard a loud thump outside, towards the front of the house. odd, considering the safehouse was fairly secluded, and there weren't supposed to be any neighbours around for the next two weeks.

"okay sweetie, you ready to sleep now?"

luckily for jake, she had fallen asleep a few minutes ago, leaving jake to himself. 

he was dreading checking out this noise. 

his hand rested on his gun as he approached the front door, pulling back the curtains and peeping through the slim gap he created. all he saw was the fence on the other side, and there were no more noises. despite this, he knew he had to stay up now and keep a lookout for any threats. he considered just opening the door and confronting whoever was out there, but that would go against protocol and create unnecessary risk. protection detail was so boring. 

he waited, and waited. and more waiting. in fact, by the time he was done waiting, the sun was coming up. 

nothing happened.

THURSDAY 19:34 in the SAFEHOUSE

"okay, you have a choice. it's very important, so i need you to think carefully before you answer. got it?"

the little girl just nodded, putting on her best game face as she stared jake straight in the eyes.

"dino nuggets or alphabetti?"

the child giggled, and pointed vaguely towards the nuggets.

"come on now, i'll need more enthusiasm than that! show those dinosaurs you mean it!"

she laughed more now, and jake let out a sigh of relief. it was the first time she'd laughed this entire time. 

she was in the middle of grabbing the box of nuggets when it happened. 

splinters of wood hit jake in the face as the door was kicked in, and he could register at least two men screaming at them to get on the ground. unfortunately, his police instincts took over and he reached for his gun, trying his best to assess the situation despite the trying circumstances. 

his right hand hit his side, and before he could realise he had left his gun on the coffee table there was a muscular arm around his neck, as well as a pistol pressed against the side of his head.

the guy had a mask on, but his voice was very distinctive. rough, almost like he'd been smoking, but with small cracks at times, and a very slight lisp that jake would have laughed about if it wasn't for, you know, the threat to his life.

"listen to me. you're going to let us take the girl peacefully, and then you're going to sit here like a good boy and stay quiet. you got that?"

jake's mind was running through all his options, which to be honest didn't take him very long, because he basically had two. follow their orders, or act out and risk both his life and the girl's. 

or...

his body acted before his brain could catch up, and he felt his knees buckle under him.

well, fighting back was a bad idea. 

similar to his first time being shot, he found himself laying on the floor, looking up at someone who had the ability to take his life away at any moment. 

unlike his first time being shot, he had people he cared about. people to live for. and more importantly, he had someone to protect. 

also unlike the first time he was shot, this bullet went through his shoulder. the wound was a little too close to his heart than he'd have liked, but whatever. it hurt a hell of a lot more, too. plus, he was fairly certain that there was no nyc stranger to save him this time round.

the terrified, screaming face of the young girl was the last thing jake saw before he lost consciousness, head falling back onto the wooden cabinet behind him. 

by the time he came back around the men were gone, and his surroundings were eerily silent. he could barely remember what had gone down, he had no idea how long he'd been out for, and his entire body ached more than it ever had before. which was actually quite impressive, because he'd worked out with terry once and he hadn't been able to move his legs for a week.

despite this, he knew what he had to do. dragging himself over to the counter felt like a monumental task, but his pain seemed as though it had already reached it's peak, so there was nothing else to do except grit his teeth and bear it. he dialled the number for the captain's phone, his fingers pressing the buttons weakly and he struggled to stay conscious for the second time that day. 

the time it took for the captain to reach the phone felt excruciatingly long, but the ringing finally stopped. 

"hello, this is captain holt, i can come to the phone right now."

"890 mayfair street."

"oh, peralta. why are you calling me? i thought i told you not to call me unless there was an emergency. is there an emergency jake? or is this about one of your movies agai-"

"the girl. 890 mayfair street."

"we will be right there. do not worry, jacob."

he couldn't find the strength to hang up. instead, the phone simply fell out of his hand, the chord saving it from crashing to the ground. a small beep signalled to jake that he was alone again. 

~~~~~~~~~~

and so there he lay. on the floor of a secluded safehouse, bleeding out into a beige carpet with no one to save him. he'd never wanted to find the nyc stranger until then. 

he wasn't ready to die.

not without amy.


	3. ch.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jake was not going to die.
> 
> that simple phrase repeated over and over in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello !! i'm so sorry for being gone for so long !! over a month is a long time, I'm frustrated with me too. i got, like, super depressed and unmotivated. fun !! anyway I hope this is a good chapter? ilya <3

the rescue went perfectly. almost suspiciously perfectly, considering they were saving a young girl from an extremely dangerous gang without any knowledge of how many people were there, or how big their guns were, or anything about them, really. in fact, it seemed they'd gotten lucky, as the rest of the family were also being held captive there. the operation ran smoothly and was over almost before it began. it felt too good to be true. 

and that's because it was.

but maybe it took them too long to realise.

it wasn't until diaz and the captain were talking, discussing their successes and (minor) failures - one of the uniformed officers had misheard the briefing and had instead raided an old people's home. there was so much paperwork. 

amy sauntered over, eager to get in on "the deets" (her own words), only to be shut down immediately by both holt and rosa. 

"santiago, maybe you should just check up on your husband. i am sure he is grateful you rescued him. perhaps you two will share some lighthearted banter about movie-"

"wait. i thought you rescued him? i haven't seen jake since i got here. i just assumed you two had found him. have you not?"

time seemed to come to a stop as the three shared the exact same thought. 

none were brave enough to say it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

holt got there first. he had insisted on taking his own car, speeding off before anyone could tell him otherwise. besides, he was captain, and that meant he could do what he wants.

in his mind, that also meant he should have known better. it meant he should have realised sooner, and he should have done something, and maybe if he'd been a better captain then he wouldn't be speeding through the streets of new york to save the young detective - a boy he had developed an underlying father/son relationship with, against his better judgement. 

the car had barely stopped moving before holt practically jumped out, not bothering to lock it as he ran up the stairs to the apartment. he could hear the faint crash of the door closing behind him, and he knew that the department would fine him for the damage, but that was the least of his concerns. 

"peralta!" 

his voice bounced around the walls of the safe house, no doubt only being heard by his own ears. despite recognising how nonsensical it was to continue these calls, considering the slim chance of an answer, he found himself shouting out into the silence. deep down, he was secretly hoping to see that irritatingly-wide grin of the detective as he turned the corner. 

instead, he saw the face of a broken boy. 

pleading eyes gazing up at him. for the first time, the captain found it hard to read jake peralta.

the dying man's expression was one of many emotions, none of which holt could pinpoint.

maybe it was fear, or desperation, or acceptance. 

the last was the worst. god, holt hoped it wasn't the last. the last meant that he had given up, that he'd stopped trying. 

the steady stream of blood had become too much for the cheap carpet, as it began to pool around jake's upper body. the bright colour that surrounded him served as a stark indicator to the captain that time was running out, as it contrasted with the detective's worryingly-pale skin. he almost looked dead already.

holt forcefully pushed that thought out of his mind. no matter what, jake was not going to die. 

jake was not going to die.

the simple phrase looped over and over until it was the only thing he could hear. it drowned out the sound of knees dropping to the floors, and frantic hands grabbing the nearest tea towel in a futile attempt to keep even the smallest amount of blood inside the boy's body. it drowned out the sound of tiny, muffled sobs as holt tried his hardest to keep it together in front of the detective, whose eyes were now beginning to close despite his best efforts to maintain eye contact. 

he cursed himself for being so emotional. not only in front of jake, but simply in front of himself. it had never been in his nature to showcase his emotions for the world to see, instead keeping them inside and processing them as efficiently as possible. that thought amused him, because god, when he said it like that, he understood why the boy called him a robot. 

nevertheless, he still thought it sensible to keep his feelings private and hidden. after all, he knew himself better than anyone else, so logically he was well-equipped to solve his own problems. 

no matter how hard he tried, he found it near impossible to hide his emotions in this scenario. he would contemplate the reasons for this later, but right now it could clearly wait. 

the young boy in front of him coughed harshly, his entire body convulsing with the sharp movement. after the cough came a distraught sob, a sound so full of genuine pain that the captain couldn't help but mirror. 

with no regard for the increasingly-large pool of blood beneath them, holt found himself shifting closer to jake, taking the detective's head and placing it on his knee tenderly. in any other circumstance, he would have been hesitant to admit it, but his actions were intentionally paternal. 

"dad."

peralta's voice almost went unheard by holt, if it wasn't for the fact that the captain's eyes were trained on the boy's face, studying every aspect of it for fleeting signs of the life he recognised. 

the first time he attempted to reply, the words lost their way, unable to make it out of his mouth. 

"yes?"

there was a newfound tenderness in his voice, one he shocked even himself with. 

"jacob. please, what is it?"

sirens. they were getting closer. closing in on the pair. 

"jacob. do you hear those sirens? can you tell me you hear them?"

his voice cracked slightly this time. he expected a witty quip from the detective, at least a small chuckle acknowledging the fault. instead, he received a slow blink. 

"jacob, don't close your eyes. keep them open, look at me."

to his surprise, his gaze was met by a pair of eyes that were once bright, full of youthful glee. 

now all they held was fear. that's what he saw. 

"dad."

fear.

"son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, do we think he's alive? did he make it, did he not? what do you think happens next? let me know, nd thank you for reading <3


End file.
